The high-pitched whine of tires on concrete accompanied the car as it raced down the highway. As he shifted gears, Carlos found himself chuckling grimly at the memory of the car’s prior owner—a worthless little faggot who’d died in unspeakable agony.

 

The thought got him hard again. But that was okay–if things worked out the way he planned, he’d soon be able to release the rage and lust still boiling within him. And maybe get even more cash…

 

He didn’t know where Will was living now, but if he was still in town, he’d be hanging at the Hideout, a seedy little dive on the west side of town. Carlos took the Winterbourne exit off the highway; the Hideout was three miles north at Winterbourne and Exposition. As he got closer to his destination, the well-built killer noticed that the neighborhood looked much the same, if not worse. At any rate, there damn sure hadn’t been any gentrification going on out here.

 

Will had probably moved. He’d had the money to do so–his family was wealthy and gave him an allowance. He’d be–what, about twenty-three now?  And that was assuming the rich little cumsucker was still alive; he could have easily OD’d or been offed by someone else by now. Still, if he was around, he’d have plenty of cash.

 

And Carlos had a score to settle with the pansy piece of shit.  Little homo liked it rough; for the right price, Carlos had given it to him rough.  The slut was a serious pig and got off on getting fucked by an authentic cholo punk from the streets.

 

And that had led Carlos to his mistake.  Knowing how much money Will had, he decided to impress the little fuck by boasting about his kill.  He was sure that the rich suburban boy would pay extra after that.

 

Instead, the queer-ass bitch had narced on him.  He didn’t testify, but some details had come up in the trial—and the only way the prosecution could have known was if Will had told them.

 

Carlos shifted gears, then reached down to the crotch of his tight jeans and shifted his dick.  It was time, he thought, for Will to learn why he shoulda kept his mouth shut.

 

He’d made a very bad decision and now he had to suffer the consequences.  And Carlos was gonna make damn sure he suffered.

 

The Hideout was still there.  It was housed in a dilapidated two-story building right on the corner; the parking lot was behind and could be reached from either street.  The corner of the building that faced the intersection had been built flat to accommodate what had then been the main entrance.  Needless to say, most dudes came in the back these days.  In more ways than one.

 

Carlos slid the Mustang into a space near the back of the lot—he’d found one that actually gave him a direct line of sight to the rear door.  He could see anyone leaving or entering; it was perfect.  He reclined the seat and settled in, waiting for his prey.  He made himself comfortable

 

He’d already spent some of Chad’s money; the first thing he did after renting a cheap motel room was to go get some clothes.  Actually, the very first thing he did was go and buy two cartons of cigarettes. He’d had to give them up inside because he’d had no money and the only thing he’d had to trade was his body—and he wasn’t no faggot.

 

He’d finished his first smoke before Chad’s mangled corpse had stopped shuddering back in the apartment.

 

Now he was outfitted in black.  Skin-tight black denim cradled his firm ass and stretched tautly over his muscled thighs, cinched around his waist with a belt of woven leather straps.  A black short-sleeve compression shirt spread like a second skin over his broad, sculpted chest, clearly delineating his large erect nipples.  He’d even replaced the bandanna covering his short, closed-shaved hair with a glossy black do-rag.

 

Out of everything he’d left prison with, all that was left was his pair of steel-toed boots. The thick black leather boots still fit perfectly.  And tonight, he might be able to put them to use…

 

As he waited, he stewed in anger.  Will coulda helped him; he coulda at least have bailed him out.  Little faggot piece a’ shit coulda done it without a problem; his folks could drop fifty large in the gutter and never even notice.  He coulda paid, and instead, he’d fucked Carlos over.

 

Now Carlos was gonna fuck him over—and make sure he paid this time.  With interest.

 

He didn’t have long to wait.

 

Will hadn’t changed much.  He was well and truly fubar’d when the bouncer tossed him out.  He staggered across the lot in a haze of alcohol and something else—at least weed, if nothing more—passing directly in front of Carlos.  He was instantly recognizable.

 

Will was short, no more than five and a half feet tall.  His short brown hair had a slight natural wave to it.  He was dark and was occasionally mistaken for Hispanic himself.  His slim body was tightly wrapped in skinny jeans that had elastic at the ankles, showing his bright blue skate sneakers and matching athletic socks.  His t-shirt was the same shade of electric blue, now sweat-stained under the arms.  The night being warmer than anticipated, his brown leather jacket was slung over his arm.

 

His broad face and snub nose were the same too, innocent and cheerful in appearance.  Utter bullshit, of course, Carlos had pumped the worthless little faggot full of cum himself and he knew for a fact he wasn’t the only one.  Amazing how neither drug and alcohol use nor rampant bareback sex had left their mark on the wealthy youth.

 

Well, he was gonna get marked soon enough.  Carlos’s eyes narrowed to icy slits as he tracked the boy to his car.  A BMW M3—of course.  Well, it’d be easy to follow, especially in that shade of red—no one else anywhere near this shitty neighborhood could afford a car like that.  And Carlos was sure the ‘Stang, old and beat-up as it was, could keep up with the flashy import.

 

Will pulled out and headed up Exposition.  Carlos was right on all counts.  The Ford kept pace with the BMW—and Will clearly didn’t live in the same place.  His old place had been off Winterbourne, the other street…

 

Carlos followed the red car for several miles up the avenue until it turned off onto a side street.  He made sure to keep enough distance between himself and Will so that the cunt wouldn’t think he was being followed—unlikely as that was; the worthless homo was too fucked up to notice much of anything, given the way he was driving.

 

He slowed on the street as the BMW turned into a gated apartment complex.  Once Will had opened the gate and let himself in, Carlos was able to dash in behind him before it closed again.  He followed the tricked-out import to a covered, numbered spot and pulled into the closest unnumbered spot he could find, luckily not too far away.

 

He shut off the ignition and lights and watched, noting the time as he did so—it was 11:30pm.  Good.  Long before the bars closed.

 

Will opened the car door and climbed laboriously to his feet.  Slamming the door shut and leaving his jacket in the car behind him, he lurched across the parking lot towards his apartment, staggering drunkenly from side to side.  Carlos had plenty of time to get out and follow him, his fucked-up prey oblivious to the heavy sounds of footfalls as the killer’s thick engineer boots thumped on the pavement.

 

The complex was upscale, neat rows of townhouse units.  Will lurched unevenly down the walk towards the row on the left, the soles of his sneakers slapping irregularly on the concrete slabs as he tried to keep his balance.  He managed to remain upright but the effort evidently amused him; he started giggling as a goofy grin spread over his face.

 

Carlos was close enough to make out the punk’s face now.  He’d held back under the covered parking area but Will was so trashed he probably wouldn’t have recognized Carlos if he’d been standing directly in front of him.  The boy’s eyes were red and half-lidded; he was clearly baked.

 

Will paused on the walk leading up to the last unit on the left, at the end of the building.  He wormed his hand down into the pocket of his tight skinny jeans and working his keys out.  He fumbled through them, looking for the right one.  He had plenty of light—the unit next to him was lit up like the top of the Chrysler Building.  All blinds had been pulled up, revealing lights burning in every room, all of them empty.  Paint buckets, stepladders and drop cloths—the unit was being repainted between tenants.

 

Deep in the shadows, Carlos grinned.  The little fuck still had no idea he was being stalked.  The well-built convict crouched, preparing to launch his muscled body into action.  Balling his hands into fists so tightly his knuckles cracked, he tensed for the assault.  He didn’t have long to wait.

 

Will reached his door.  As he poked at it drunkenly with his key, scratching the wood, the black-shrouded killer leaped out of the darkness.  There was a small patch of lawn in front of each townhouse; Carlos’s boots landed quietly on the grass just to the right of the sidewalk.  Hunched over, he crept forward swiftly, reaching the front door just as Will got it open.

 

The attack was quick and brutal.

 

Carlos hit Will full-body from behind, knocking him across the dark room.  He hit what must have been a side table, upsetting it with a loud crash before falling to the floor with a thump.  Following the stunned boy, the hulking convict stepped in and closed the door behind him.  In complete darkness, he felt the wall next to the door and quickly found the switch.

 

Several lamps spread around the room illuminated at once, showing a small but well-furnished living room with an L-shaped sectional sofa and a huge LCD TV.  Immediately to his right was a flight of stairs leading to the second floor.  Beyond the living room, the dining room was still shrouded in darkness but Carlos could see a rustic table that matched the hardwood floor, with armchairs on all four sides.  A door beyond presumably led to a kitchen.

 

Will was huddled on the floor by the sofa, groaning and utterly confused.  Carlos had been right—an end table on its side and the shattered fragments of a lamp marked the boy’s landing spot.  Musta hurt like a bitch.  As he struggled to his feet, his skin-tight clothing showed the muscles working in his lean, lithe body.  He hadn’t changed a bit, Carlos realized.  Still the smooth little slut.  Good—that would make this even more fun.

 

Striding brusquely forward, Carlos grabbed a handful of Will’s brown hair.  Jerking his head back, Carlos sneered down into the kid’s drugged and befuddled face before slamming his fist into the boy’s snub nose.  Will’s head snapped back under the force of the blow and he gave a breathy grunt of surprise.

 

“Uhhh…” he muttered, wiping his swelling nose with the back of his hand, then peering owlishly at the blood.  “Wha’ th’ fuck?”  He turned his bleary bloodshot eyes up to the dark figure looming over him.  “Dude, wha’s goin on?”

 

Carlos glared down at the boy.  “Shoulda kept yer mouth shut, faggot,” he snarled.  “Now you’re gonna hafta be taught a lesson.”

 

“Wha-what ya talkin’ ‘bout?” Will slurred.  It was obvious he hadn’t recognized Carlos yet—not that Carlos cared.  “Shut up, cunt,” the aggressive stud barked, kicking at the boy.  He drove his steel-toed boot into Will’s ribs, leaving the slut writhing on the floor in pain.  “You still gotta problem runnin’ your mouth, dontcha, bitch?  Gonna have to do somethin’ about that.”

 

The kid made faint mewling sounds as he shuddered and tried to regain his breath.  He cowered on the floor in fear and confusion. The still-unknown (to him, at least) hunk towering over him stretched out his thickly-muscled leg again, this time forcing the thick sole of his black harness boot into Will’s face.  As the rich little punk bleated and wailed, Carlos ground the tread into his smooth cheeks.  “Lick it,” he sneered coldly.  “Lick the sole of my boot, you worthless homo pig.  C’mon, ya fuckin’ whore, work your tongue!”

 

Despite his pain and confusion, the command had an immediate physical reaction in Will.  The tight crotch of his skinny jeans did nothing to hide his growing erection, a long ridge in the denim that was visibly swelling.  It continued to grow as he slurped his tongue over the sole of Carlos’s boot.

 

He began to get into it.  He was still too wasted to be able to think clearly; he just slipped instinctively into full-on pig mode.  Getting bored with the sole, he moved his head and began to give his attention to the scarred tip of the well-worn boot—only to find it suddenly withdrawn.

 

“I told you the sole, you stupid piece of shit!” came a cold hiss from above.  Then Will had a brief sensation of movement before an excruciating blackness exploded in his face.  With another vicious kick, Carlos had put his lights out.  He’d also broken the cunt’s jaw.

 

The sadistic alpha dragged the limp youth up on the couch, face down, where the blood from his split lips began to trickle onto the fabric.  Carlos then strode back through the dark dining room and pushed open the door at the rear.  In the darkness beyond, he groped to the side and found the switch—he’d been correct, a small but well-appointed kitchen was revealed.  Directly across from the door was the knife block; he reached out and snatched one of the steak knives.

 

Returning to his victim, Carlos began cutting the unconscious boy’s clothes off.  He started with a quick slice at the collar of the t-shirt, taking a moment first to control the strong urge to slash the bitch’s throat and just watch him bleed out.  But that’d be too quick and much too easy for the little motherfucker.  Carlos wanted Will to enjoy their reunion wide awake.

 

The nick at the collar was enough; the muscled con ripped the shirt open like paper down Will’s back.  He manhandled the limp, smooth body roughly as he pulled the arms out of the sleeves and tossed the shredded fabric into the corner like a bright blue dishrag, leaving the bitch face-up, drooling and shuddering.  The slut’s belt was unfinished leather—but it was no match for the expensive knife set he’d bought.  As Carlos cut through both the belt and the waist of the skin-tight jeans, he chuckled evilly to himself and wondered if the stupid cunt had ever imagined the use to which at least one blade would be put…

 

He ripped the knife through the denim by sliding it down each leg on the inside, between the skin and the fabric, edged side up.    Yanking the slashed jeans off the cunt’s smooth, slimly muscled legs, he threw them, along with the knife, off to one side.  The wad of sliced-open denim ended up spread over the other side of the couch.  The knife bounced on the floor and skittered under the end table; its pointed tip, glittering with reflected light, the only part left visible.

 

Underneath, the faggot was commando—as Carlos knew he’d be, the flaming boyslut always went commando when he went out.  He was ready to get his hole plugged at any time.

 

He probably wasn’t ready now, though.  Not, of course, that it mattered.  Carlos peeled the compression shirt off his broad, powerful chest and tossed up onto the back of the sofa; it instantly slipped off behind.  At the same time, Will gave a guttural groan, more of a thick gagging sound, as agony-soaked awareness slowly seeped back into his stunned mind.

 

The kid blinked—twice, slowly, then several more times with increasing speed.  He finally came back to himself in the middle of a nightmare rendered terrifying by pain and confusion.  His drug- and alcohol-fogged brain was in no condition to process what was happening.  He remembered getting knocked across the room, the hot stranger who seemed to be angry but then triggered his pig love of boot worship, but none of it matched with his current experience.

 

His short-term memory had been disturbed and hadn’t retained the kick.  Will’s jaw was in flaming agony and he had no idea why.  Or why he was nude with nothing but his tube socks still clinging to his calves and his skate kicks tightly laced around his feet.

 

More importantly, as his eyes, dark circles of shock already forming around them, turned up to the well-built stud towering over him, they drew an utter blank.  Will did not recognize the former street hustler who used to plow his hole for cash and drugs.

 

Of course, Carlos had changed a bit.  For one thing, he was much more developed now, his bulging muscles showing the effect of daily prison workouts.  And for another, he had a lot more tattoos than the last time Will had seen him.

 

And finally, Will had killed so many brain cells with his constant whoring and partying that it was unlikely he would have remembered who Carlos was even if he’d been sober.  He’d squealed on the killer, sure—but Carlos wasn’t the only one.  He was just the only one to have been released from prison yet.

 

The hot buff stud looming ominously over him was unknown to Will.  He cowered in terror and tried to speak—to beg, to plead, to protest—but the pain of his snapped jaw prevented him from making any articulate sounds.  Only a low keening wail slipped past his swollen, bloody lips.

 

Carlos looked down at the helpless snitch.  The punk’s smooth, slim frame was much as he remembered it.  He’d always kinda liked fucking Will—not that he was a faggot or anything like that, but the boy was responsive.  He loved getting plowed.  It was unlikely that the little motherfucker had changed.

 

The hardened convict let his eyes roam over the youth’s lean swimmer’s body, coldly wondering how much the whore would like it this time.  Not much, he suspected.

 

Grinning evilly, he decided to make sure.

 

His icy eyes locked onto Will’s as he unzipped the crotch of his black jeans.    The eye contact was broken when he dug in and yanked out his huge dripping hog.  Will’s attention was understandably drawn downwards, his large tearstained brown eyes growing huge as they took in Carlos’s dangling meat.

 

He had seen it before, but not hanging threateningly over his head.  And perhaps it had grown some too, like the rest of the alpha’s taut body.  At any rate, the last time he’d seen it, it hadn’t made the impression on him that it was making now.

 

“Lookitya, you stupid cocksucker,” Carlos hissed, “still tryin’ to talk.  Talking’s what got ya here in the first place, faggot.  Guess you still ain’t learned yer lesson, huh?  So I gotta teach ya.”

 

He bent down, thrusting his hard, unshaven face close to his whimpering victim’s.  “I learned somethin’ in prison, fag,” he whispered.  “The best way to remember something is through pain.  Here, lemme show ya.”

 

Will began to weep even before Carlos parted his legs, but he didn’t start to scream until the rage-fueled killer shoved his massive, vein-wrapped cock into the boy’s quivering, unprepared fuckhole.  Every time Carlos had fucked Will in the past, he’d used vast amounts of lube, wrapped his dong in a condom (god knows what else had been up that hole)—and he’d eased in slowly.

 

None of that mattered now.  His thick shaft tore through the young slut’s ass like a hot knife through butter, stretching the sphincter past its tolerance and splitting apart the rectal lining with a white-hot searing agony that made Will shriek like he was getting raped with a razor blade.

 

It was music to Carlos’s ears.  And the way the lean young cunt threw his entire body into his screaming—that was almost magic, the way it massaged the swollen purple head of the grimly sadistic con’s dick.

 

“Fuck yeah, cunt!” he grunted as his muscled body heaved and pumped his rod up the kid’s traumatized rectum.  “Goddam little fuckin’ pain slut, huh?  Scream all ya want, bitch—ain’t no one gonna hear it and it feels so goddam good on my cock.  Scream, you worthless homo stoolie, scream like your useless life matters!”

 

Carlos was hunched over the well-used slut, his skin-tight jeans still clinging to his thick muscled thighs as they pumped his shaft up the cunt’s colon.  One leg was up on the sofa but his other black boot was planted firmly on the floor to give him enough traction to sink his tool deep into the squealing queerboy’s guts.  He gripped the whore’s left shoulder tightly to keep the target immobile as he drove his rock-hard fist into the punk’s smooth flat belly.

 

Will was screaming shrilly in agony, his body awash in a white-hot flame of excruciating pain as his ass was violated more brutally than anything he’d ever experienced in his short, wasted life.  His mind was a quagmire of terror and physical trauma but still, some deep dark pig corner reveled in the abuse and rape.

 

That little corner noted the contempt on the hot rough alpha’s face as he hocked up a huge disgusting wad of phlegm and spit it on Will’s face, where it blended in with his involuntary tears.  It also noticed Carlos suddenly leaning back, unbuckling his belt of woven leather straps and slipping it off.

 

Even the pig part refused to recognize the implications.  Even the pig part was unable to face its own death-worship.  But on a deep subconscious level, there was a response.

 

Despite the intense pain he was experiencing, as Carlos slid his belt free menacingly, some part of Will was aware that his own dick was stiffening.  He was hung well himself—not as large as his assailant, but his thick tube steak towered a good seven inches over his flat smooth belly when it was fully aroused, as it was now.

 

But his own throbbing cock couldn’t compete for his attention as Carlos tossed the belt down on the sofa cushion and bent over him.  The young punk gasped involuntarily as the hard scruffy face of his torturer filled his field of vision.  Again, his body responded to stimuli of which his conscious mind was unaware—in this case the earthy scent of Carlos’s sweaty body, heavily laden with testosterone.

 

With a faint sense of despair, Will felt his erect dick, now more sensitive than ever, slap wetly against his sadistic rapist’s rippled belly.  From his point of view, he couldn’t see how the oozing spongy head of his shaft was leaving glistening trails over Carlos’s short dark body fur, but he was still aware that his traitorous rod was leaking precum—

 

Carlos was pissed.  He’d noticed Will’s attention wandering again.  Stupid little fuck didn’t even realize what was at stake.  Even worse, he was committing a fatal error.

 

He was getting loose.

 

As Carlos began whispering to him, Will noticed the word “revenge” tattooed amateurishly on the cruel stud’s neck for the first time.  His fear- and drug-sodden brain was too impaired to connect it to anything that followed.

 

“You stupid worthless piece of shit.  Your tongue and your ass are both too loose—guess you been whorin’ out both, huh?  Your ass to anyone who’ll pay and your mouth to anyone who’ll listen?  Time to tighten ‘em both, motherfucker!”

 

Will shuddered—he himself didn’t know if in terror or pleasure—as Carlos bent even closer, the short black bristles on his unshaven cheek scraping Will’s face like steel wool, and muttered in his ear.  “Guess what, cunt?  It’s gonna hurt.  It’s gonna hurt so fuckin’ bad, you’ll shoot your load in agony.”

 

Staring coldly into his victim’s face, the powerful alpha grabbed Will’s jaw and squeezed, grinding the broken ends of the bone together in an excruciating vise-like grip.  The strung-out punk could only squeal in agony, his voice rising in a thin shrill shriek as he experienced pain he’d never encountered—or even imagined—in his protected, rich-kid life.

 

Carlos leaned back and sneered at him. Spitting in his tear-streaked face, he snarled, “Shut up, ya goddam faggot!”  Still gasping the writhing youth’s jaw in an iron grip, he backhanded Will across the face with the other hand.  “Fuck yeah!” he growled, “Now you’re gettin’ good and tight.  Ya like it when I hurt ya, huh?  Ya like gettin’ beat down like a weak useless homo punk?  Sure the fuck hope so, cunt, cause that’s what’s gonna happen!”

 

Will was caught up in a maelstrom of pain and panic.  Squealing in pure fright, he fought back violently, his bright blue kicks flailing in the air as his smooth legs wrapped around Carlos’s sweaty muscular flank.  As the powerful convict held the boy down and slammed his monstrous shaft up the struggling kid’s torn, bleeding rectum, Will beat against the alpha’s chest, his balled fists having no impact at all on the stud’s broad glistening pecs.

 

They did, however, have an impact on Carlos’s temper.  He got pissed.  He spat a stream of curses at the tormented punk, squeezing Will’s jaw periodically.  Each time he did, he could feel the broken bones grinding and watch Will stiffen and moan in agony.

 

“Stupid fucking bitch [squeeze, moan], quit tryin’ to fight it [squeeze, louder moan].  Time for you [harder squeeze, shrill wail] to take your punishment like a man [much hard squeeze, hoarse shriek].  Ya gotta learn, cunt, and we ain’t even gotten started yet!”

 

He let go of Will’s jaw.  As the lithe boyslut, pale and trembling from the torture he’d just endured, shakily gasped in relief, Carlos slammed his fist into the kid’s face.  His bulging bicep gave his arm the force of a piledriver as he beat the helpless drugged youth ruthlessly.

 

“Ya ain’t ever gonna squeal on no one again, you faggot scumbag!” Carlos snarled while Will succumbed to the beating, his firm slim body thrashing and jerking as each painful blow landed.  “I’m gonna shut you up for good, ya hear me?  I ain’t just gonna waste ya, dude, I’m gonna use yer dyin’ body to jack off.  Ya like that, huh, ya disgusting fuckpig?”

 

Will heard the words but was unable to process them—both his face and his ass were getting pounded by the brutal hard-bodied killer.  His brain was repeatedly impacting the interior of his skull; it was able to absorb stimuli but not to interpret them.  It had a lot to absorb.

 

Despite the agony and vicious violence of the moment, Will’s brain detected the pheromones saturating his torturer’s musky scent.  Deep in the punk’s brain stem, the physiological response to dominant rape kicked in.

 

And it stayed in.  Carlos halted the assault and sat up on his knees, keeping his long rod buried in the useless stoolie’s quivering ass.  As the paroled strongman rested for a moment, his buff, tattooed torso heaved as he regained his breath.  Will continued to shudder and writhe in pain, causing Carlos to grunt in pleasure and take a moment to enjoy the cunt helplessly grinding his fuckhole onto his tormentor’s swollen shaft.

 

Even now, Will wasn’t able to recognize the inevitable.  His face was battered, his eyes were blackened and swollen.  Both the orbit of his left eye and his left cheekbone had been broken—and yet, on some primal level, his bottom pig nature kicked in.  He’d always been a bottom, and the rougher the sex, the better.

 

He was, after all, only taking his sexual inclination to its logical conclusion.  And while his fragile, jagged psyche couldn’t admit it, his body was responding to the brutal rape and assault as if it was enduring the greatest fuck it had ever experienced—as it truly was.

 

But that didn’t stop Will’s conscious terror.  He could barely see out of his swollen, battered eyes—but he could see well enough when Carlos reached down and picked up the woven leather belt.  As the well-built convict rode the helpless punk’s ass, he dangled the belt in front of Will’s eyes and grinned.

 

“Damn, dude, you’re fucked up.  You’re fucked up bad,” the sadistic alpha chuckled.  Even up on his knees, his thighs were developed enough to let him keep slamming his cock up the writhing, terrified youth’s fuckhole.  “Know what, cunt?  It ain’t enough.  What you did to me—you made me do this, you squealin’ little fag.  Remember that.  Everything you’ve suffered, everything you’re about to suffer, you made me do to you, you motherfucking cumguzzling queer!”

 

Holding the belt out taut in front of him, Carlos extended his arms and, bending down, managed to slip it under Will’s head in with a quick, sweeping motion.  Bringing the loose ends around, he crossed them over the kid’s throat; the boy’s white flesh showing through the small gaps between the meshed leather straps.

 

Carlos released the belt, letting it lie across Will neck loosely.  Hunching down over the kicking, flailing slut, he again grabbed Will’s broken, misshapen jaw and clenched his iron grip.

 

“Does it hurt, you homo pig?” he hissed.  “Does it hurt, huh?  Want me to end it?  Want me to make it all go away, you fuckin’ rat?  Fuck yeah, dude, I think it’s time to exterminate some vermin!  Gonna do the world a favor and off your worthless ass.  Even your momma and daddy gonna thank me for wastin’ their useless pansy money drain, y’know?  Ain’t no one gonna miss ya, ain’t no one gonna care.”

 

Will was gasping raggedly, his mouth hanging open.  It hurt too much to close it anyway.  His nose, pummeled and broken during the beating, was clogged with blood and snot; he wasn’t able to breathe through it.  He was still struggling, still resisting the inevitable, but with much less intensity.  He’d endured far too much trauma to have any real fight left in him.

 

Even through Will’s bruised and slitted eyelids, Carlos could see the spark of resistance fade from his victim’s eyes.  He didn’t want that; at least, not yet.  “What’s wrong, ya worthless fuck?  I got beat worse than that every week in prison.  Made a man outta me—but then, I ain’t no fuckin’ faggot stoolie. You ain’t gettin’ outta this that easy, bitch, you ain’t done workin’ my cock yet.  Betcha I know how to get some fight back in your limp homo ass, boy!”

 

As the boy moaned weakly, the muscled killer stud jerked the ends of the belt, instantly causing the thin, interwoven leather straps to sink deeply into the slut’s neck.  Carlos had been right; the moment his air was cut off, the limp faggot revived immediately, a flame of sheer terror consuming what little rational mind the viciously abused youth had left.

 

Will drummed the heels of his skate shoes into Carlos’s firm ass, but the hardbodied convict never so much as noticed it through the jeans he was still wearing.  Even open at the crotch and free of the belt, the black denim still clung tightly to his muscular thighs and rounded ass.  What he did notice was the way Will’s sphincter suddenly grabbed hold of his enormous throbbing shaft.

 

“Fuck, cunt, that’s it!  Yeah, you squealin’ pig, work my dick as you die, you cocksucker!”  The words reverberated in Will’s ears as the belt sank deeper into his throat.  He was already nearly insane with the instinctual panic generated by suffocation; the physical and mental torture were almost wasted on him—but not quite.  The power bottom pig that lurked deep in Will’s dank soul heard and responded, yet again.

 

Even as the slim, lithe youth beat his hands ineffectually against his killer’s broad sweaty chest, the oozing purple tip of his rod was digging furrows in Carlos’s body fur as the overpowering killer continued to rape and strangle the little fuck.  Though his nose was blocked, his body still managed to absorb and react to the sex pheromones and testosterone that drenched the room.

 

At some point during his murder, Will remembered he was on his own couch.  He’d sat here last night and watched TV.  This wasn’t happening.  He was having a nightmare—no, nightmares didn’t hurt like this.  He was having a bad trip.  He’d taken something and was tripping balls, but oh fuck whatever he was on he’d never do it again, please god just let me come down safe and I won’t do any more LSD but holy shit acid never did this to me…

 

He couldn’t keep it up.  LSD might explain the choking sensation—but not the rape.  He could feel every ridge of every vein on Carlos’s grotesquely thick shaft tearing through his rectum, even as his head and chest started to burn.

 

It started out dull, the burn, but the pressure in his lungs and head was increasing geometrically, swelling the dull ache into a fiery agony within moments.  All the pain from the trauma his face had suffered was amplified as his bruised skin darkened even further and grew taut and stretched.

 

The terrified punk realized that his slim young body was no match for the brawny dominant stud who seemed to know him…but those tattoos—that winged skull on his arm, the horrific figure of death on the alpha’s pec, urging him to die…he didn’t know those.

 

Will had no idea who was raping and murdering him—or why.  He was far too fucked up—physically, mentally, chemically—to comprehend either the inevitability or the appropriateness of his snuff.

 

What he did comprehend, and comprehend very well, was that he couldn’t force the stranger off him.  The dude was a strapping powerhouse, a muscled god, and while Will was neither weak nor scrawny, he had no chance in hell of moving Carlos’s herculean bulk off of him.

 

The dying snitch slut had only one other option—the belt itself.  Will had no hope of either wresting it away from Carlos’s grasp or inflicting any kind of damage on the woven leather straps, but that didn’t stop him from clawing at it in a terror-stricken frenzy.  The struggling youth had little conscious thought left in any case; most of his response was simply aimed at the area where the pain was worst.

 

The slow but inexorably crushing of Will’s esophagus had overtaken the lack of oxygen in the kid’s register of pain.

 

As the agony of death intensified, Will grew more responsive to his assailant’s cock, just as Carlos had known it would.  “Now you’re gettin’ it,” the cold arrogant sadist sneered, “now you’re finally doin’ something useful, you worthless cunt.  Fuckin’ druggie faggot rat, only thing you’re good for is soaking up my cum, ya hear me?”

 

His face twisted in uncontrollable rage, Carlos bent down over Will.  The boy’s face was utterly unrecognizable.  His tongue, a bizarre shade of purple, protruded grotesquely from between swollen, blue split lips.  Oozing out around it was foamy saliva, stained pink with blood from both inside and outside the whore’s mouth.  The bubbly pink mass slid down Will’s blackened cheeks and hung off his chin in long streamers of pink drool.

 

The dying kid’s eyes bulged horribly from their orbits, red with both drug use and pinpoint hemorrhages.  As Carlos spat a huge wad of phlegm into the suffering youth’s face, Will’s hands began to lose their coordination while trying to pry the black leather belt from his throat.  They’d never had a chance of grabbing it; it had sunk in too deeply for that.  But now the slut wasn’t even trying.

 

The ripped stud kept plowing his shaft into Will’s lacerated fuckhole.  He knew that he only had a little time left—the worthless homo rat would be brain-dead within sixty seconds.  If he was gonna get off while the faggot died, he needed to put it into overdrive.

 

Will got to sample Hell before he went there permanently.

 

“Goddam piece of motherfuckin’ shit, you can’t even milk the spunk outta my hog, can ya, you fuckin’ pig?  Ok, cunt, you had yer chance.  Die, you motherfucker.  Die, you faggot!”

 

A red, lust-fueled mist descended over Carlos as he snarled and foamed in rage, his angry throbbing shaft tearing though Will’s tender guts as the killer brutally plowed the boy’s shuddering body.  He bore down on the whore, still weakly struggling.

 

There was little left of Will by this point; nothing more than quivering, sensitive flesh that was enduring the impact of trauma.  What little mind that had existed before the assault was gone; nothing was left but an awareness of physical sensation—and the physical reactions generated by those sensations.

 

So when the belt completely and utterly crushed Will’s windpipe, the cartilage crunching audibly, the young addict’s body went rigid, the rectum collapsing on Carlos’s thick pulsing cock with vacuum force.

 

As dark explosion burst in front of Will’s eyes and his last terrified spark of consciousness slid into a screaming vortex of glassy agony, his body broke out in an icy sweat as his adrenal system started to fail.  Cascading organ failure wracked the boy’s smooth body with violent convulsions

 

Carlos held the firm shuddering flesh close to him, feeling Will’s asscheeks flex and pump on the root of the hardbodied con’s extended cock.  The powerful thug grunted and tensed as his huge balls contracted.  Hot sperm boiled at the base of the killer’s dick as the dying slut kicked helplessly.

 

Suddenly Will went rigid in the grip of a nightmarish spasm, his slim but strong muscles contorting violently as inexorable progressive brain damage wreaked havoc on the cunt’s nervous system.  His legs wrapped tight around his murderer’s waist, his neon blue sneakers scraping raggedly over the skin-tight denim protecting the alpha’s ass.

 

 

The kid’s arm’s had flailed mindlessly, his hands beating and fluttering against Carlos’s massive torso, his fingers scrabbling vainly in the bigger dude’s sweat-matted chest hair.  As the smooth young punk stiffened in his final moments on earth, he involuntarily clutched at the convict’s broad shoulders and held them tightly, almost as a last desperate touch of humanity as the life he’d wasted was brutally choked out of him.

 

That’s when the long hot shaft pressed against Carlos’s furry belly began to pulse and spew.  A thick ropy jet of semen spurted between the writhing, sweating males, the tortured, vanquished youth acknowledging his defeat with his death load.  Creamy spunk splattered on the faggot’s black, swollen face, running viscously down his dark, distended cheeks and adding an additional glaze to his bulging bloodshot eyes.  And after everything, the terrified queerboy was dying without every really understanding who was killing him, or why.

 

It was too much for the muscular sadist.  “Fuck!” he snarled as his seed boiled over.  “Fuck yeah!  Fuckin’ ownin’ ya, cunt!  Fuckin’-A!”  As his hard tough body hunched and jerked in explosive orgasm, he could only keep the belt tight around his victim’s throat as he continued to curse and pump his hot seed into the corpse’s writhing innards.

 

The last physical sensation Will felt was one of utterly indescribable agony.  There was truly no Will left, just randomly firing nerves that imparted an impression of boiling magma and impalement on a sharp spike.  There was nothing to receive the impression.  Will was quivering meat, spunking involuntarily and uncontrollably.

 

Even Carlos was impressed.  As often as he’d been raped in jail, he’d seen a lot of cum.  But he’d never seen anything like the fountain of jizz forced outta the stoolie by his death throes.  Little motherfucker musta been full of spunk.

 

Still shuddering and tingling with pleasure, Carlos slowly backed off the couch, disengaging his huge, still-erect cock from the corpse’s fuckhole; it trailed a long pearly streamer of semen.  Standing up, he took a couple of minutes—it took that long to do it—to stuff his throbbing, dripping member back into his jeans.  He was just barely able to zip the fly; the enormous bulge in the crotch was incredibly conspicuous.

 

The tattooed convict stood over the sprawled corpse of his victim, admiring it for a moment.  Will was lying on his back, legs and arms both spread, completely nude except for his bright blue shoes and the athletic socks of the same shade that somehow still clung tightly to the corpse’s firm calves.  As Carlos watched, the body continued to twitch and jerk randomly, the typical mindless quiverings of a strangled corpse.

 

Will’s face was totally unrecognizable.  He’d been a beautiful—some had said adorable—youth; certainly his looks had been far more responsible for his position in life than his ability.  Carlos wondered what those “some” would say about the apparition before him now—face black, eyes bulging horrifically, thick purple tongue protruding, grotesquely misshapen jaw, and all covered with a drying glaze of spunk and foamy spittle.

 

But he’d enjoyed his kill long enough.  He still needed money.  He knew where Will kept it—if he hadn’t changed anything in the last couple of years; he’d moved, after all.  But Carlos was confident.  The stupid piece of shit had moved, but he hadn’t changed.

 

The can of shaving cream was in the downstairs bathroom.  The hardened convict recognized it immediately and, snatching it up, unscrewed the false bottom eagerly.

 

Holy shit.  What a huge fucking roll of bills.  Motherfucker had a wad of cash bigger than his death wad.

 

Carlos strolled back into the living room and casually tossed the cash down onto the end table.  Walking through to the kitchen, he took a couple of moments to root through the fridge and make himself a sandwich.

 

He returned to the living room and spent the next half hour comfortably eating his meal and counting the cash as Will’s corpse slowly started to cool and stiffen.  By the time Carlos found himself richer by more than seven grand, he’d had time to enjoy a post-meal smoke and the body had stopped kicking.  Probably for the best, since he ground his glowing butt out on the corpse’s scrotum.

 

Standing and stretching, the muscled killer felt tired in a good way.  He glanced around the room one last time and realized his shirt was missing.  He didn’t really care—it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford another, and there wasn’t anyone who’d be getting too worked up about an informer gettin’ whacked.  The cops were used to that shit; they’d shrug their shoulders and find themselves another snitch.

 

And anyway, his black belt of interwoven leather straps had sunk so deeply into the motherfucker’s windpipe, Carlos wasn’t gonna bother to try to retrieve it.  Let the cunt’s parents see what had happened to the useless cumsucker.  They’d probably heave a sigh of relief that their worthless money-sucking offspring wouldn’t trouble them further.

 

Carlos bent down and grabbed the whore’s shredded blue t-shirt.  He wadded it up and used it to swab the dried scaly cum and sweat off his sculpted torso before tossing it onto the splayed corpse.  It landed on the Will’s smooth flat abdomen and instantly started turning dark as it absorbed the still-uncoagulated sperm puddled in the hollow of the belly.

 

The hardened (and by now, well-experienced) killer took a last look around before heading out the door.  The gruesome results of his revenge sex murder were spread across the room, from the table and broken lamp on one side to the torn remains of Will’s jeans on the other—and, of course, the raped and strangled homo punk displayed as a centerpiece.  The steak knife under the table added a final macabre touch.

 

Carlos felt he’d gotten his point across.  He’d damn sure taught Will how to keep his mouth shut.

 

His thick black boots thudding on the pavement, Carlos strode back to the car.  The cool night breeze swept across his tattooed chest, stiffening his large dark nipples.  Deliberately passing up Will’s BMW as too conspicuous, he climbed back into the ‘Stang.  As his firm taut ass settled comfortably into the leather seat, he was aware of how the extremely tight black jeans he was wearing outlined the roll of cash in his pocket—it was almost as thick a ridge as his cock.

 

Carlos chuckled.  He kinda looked like the bassist in “Spinal Tap”.  As he put the car in gear and pulled out of the apartment parking lot, he wondered if it would improve his chances of landing another faggot tonight.

 

Not, of course, that he needed anything beyond his own amazingly well-developed body to lure in pansy whores.  But even now, he could still feel anger against those worthless faggot slut cunt pieces of shit—

 

And just like that, he was hard again.  He could almost feel rage and testosterone refilling his scrotum at a phenomenal rate.

 

Soon.  It had to be soon.  It was building up too fast for him to control it.  He’d have to drain it off again soon—his rage, his hate, his cum.